Danae had almost helped Heracles to his feet when there was a scream behind her.
Hades, his chest heaving with the last vestiges of life, had grabbed the nearest mortal by her ragged tunic and dragged her down to the floor with him. With a guttural moan, he ripped the knife from his chest, slashed it across the woman’s throat, then wrapped his fingers around her neck.
Time seemed to halt, then, like a river rushing towards a waterfall, suddenly regained speed.
‘No!’ Danae let go of Heracles and lunged towards Hades as he drained the woman’s life-force. She had aimed too high: the knife had pierced the flesh above his heart, and, aided by the mortal’s life-threads, the wound healed in the space of two breaths.
Danae made it halfway across the cave before Hadesstraightened up and conjured a gust of wind that hurled her back against the far wall. She cried out as her bones cracked against the rock, her limbs pinned under the pressure of his life-threads.
Heracles staggered and once again fell to his knees as the rest of the Missing cringed back, clustering into the depths of the cave. Charon stood between Hades and Danae, his crimson gaze flashing between them.
The Lord of the Underworld’s pale eyes burned with icy rage.
‘How disappointing,’ he spat through blood-flecked teeth.
Her heart thundered as he advanced, his arm outstretched as though he would drain her just like he had the mortal.
But before Hades reached her, Charon unleashed a guttural cry and charged his staff upwards, ramming its crystal end into the ceiling. There was a blinding flash of pure white light, then part of the cave collapsed.
Danae slid down the wall, no longer pinned by Hades’ life-threads. Then a gloved pair of hands grabbed her. She coughed, her lungs full of dust, unable to see as the ferryman dragged her out through the doorway, leaving Hades, Heracles and the Missing trapped in the cave on the other side of the fallen ceiling.
‘Wait,’ she spluttered, as Charon pulled her down the passage, ‘Heracles …’
But the ferryman only increased his speed.
Danae dug in her heels. ‘Stop!’ she coughed. ‘Why are you helping me?’
This could be a trick, another of Hades’ tortures designed to dangle hope in front of her only to snatch it away.
Charon grunted in frustration, turned towards her and held his staff aloft, then touched the glowing crystal to her chest.
Danae’s brow furrowed. ‘I don’t …’
Frantically, the ferryman nodded towards the crystal.
‘The light?’
He nodded again, then once more pressed the glowing rock to her sternum.
She drew a sharp breath. ‘I … I am the light.’
The ferryman continued to nod emphatically.
‘You know about Prometheus’ prophecy. You know who I am.’
He nodded once more, slower this time. A heartbeat passed between them, her oak-brown eyes staring into his crimson orbs, then he continued to tug her along the tunnel, away from the heart of Tartarus.
‘But Heracles … I can’t leave him.’ She tried again to pull back, but Charon tightened his grip on her arm and forced her onwards. Try as she might, she did not have the strength to fight him. His panic betrayed his thoughts without him having to voice them. The rockslide would slow Hades down, but it would not keep him trapped for long.
They stumbled through passage after passage, the rough stone walls glowing with the same light-pulsing roots that laced the tunnels leading to the entrance of the Underworld. After a while the ferryman eased his grip on Danae’s arm. They had taken so many twists and turns, she would not have been able to find her way back to the Missing’s cave without him.
Then she heard it.
The roots were singing again. It was the same song Orpheus had serenaded the tendrils with at the bronze gates.
They reached another fork in the passage, and Danae stopped moving. Charon tugged her arm, gesturing towards the left tunnel, but her head twitched to the right, following the source of the vibrations. They were growing louder.
The clatter of a stone echoed in the passageway behind them. Charon let go of her, raising his staff aloft.
